The Art of Jousting
by Rockstar with a Vendetta
Summary: One-Shot. Wyldon may not be her training-master anymore, but Keladry is still very much his student as he teaches her the art of, ah, jousting. KelxWyldon. Rated T for euphemisms. Written as a challenge for Quatre-sama.


**Written for Lisa as a challenge, in which I had to use "jousting" as a euphemism and somehow had to incorporate the following words into the fic: lance, sweat, mount, grind and urge.**

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"Three things are required to become an expert: a lot of experience, plenty of bruises, and a worthy jousting partner." Wyldon raised an eyebrow at her. "You may not gain much experience for awhile, but I'm more than a match for you and I won't be gentle. You will get bruised."

Keladry half-smiled, amused. "Sir, I tilted with Raoul. I'm used to bruises. They won't bother me."

"Raoul was too soft with you. He may have made you hurt, but you won't be able to sit down for a week after our sessions."

Well, _that_ certainly didn't sound pleasant. Raoul had been painful enough—and now she was voluntarily going to submit herself to what sounded like an exercise far more agonizing than those from her squire years? He must have noticed her hesitation because he cleared his throat and said, almost slyly,

"You don't have to joust with me, of course."

There was a challenge in his dark eyes, although his tone was mild. Kel didn't scowl—she was much too controlled for that—but she did allow herself a small frown.

"I'm never going to be any good if you don't teach me," she protested.

Wyldon replied with a frown of his own. "You act like you're not good now. I'm confident that you've far surpassed your year-mates in your abilities. Considering some of them have had more chances than you to practice, that's no small thing. You're a natural, Keladry."

She colored faintly at his praise. It meant a lot to her, although she knew better than to say it. Instead she demurred, "I don't think so, sir. All those older knights—"

"Are older," he interrupted in exasperation. "With experience. You expect to become unstoppable overnight and it can't be done. Tilting is a bit more grueling than mere swordplay."

"I have tilted before, you know," Kel pointed out, hands on her hips. She realized that probably sounded horribly impertinent and added apologetically, "Sir."

"Queenscove is rubbing off on you," he said dryly. He didn't seem offended. "We'll keep from the saddles for now; you should learn the actual moves before then. Let's start with the basics. Grasp the **lance** with both hands."

She opened her mouth to say—well, she didn't know, but it had something to do with his offensive patronizing tone. He had just said she surpassed her year-mates, and now he wanted to treat her like a green page? He cut across her swiftly, saying, "Don't be petty, Keladry. I'm just going to teach you some tricks."

Kel shut her mouth with a click of her teeth, blushing. "I'm sorry, sir."

This time she did as she was told. The **wood** was smooth and hard and _right_ in her hand. She was adept at other weapons, yet somehow nothing brought the peaceful surety that jousting did.

Wyldon smiled crookedly. "See? A natural. You remind me of me when I was just discovering the art of tilting. Although I think you're a sight more talented than I was."

Shocked, she blurted, "But you're incredible! You're way better than I am."

"Now, perhaps," he conceded. "But back then—all legs and elbows and I rarely found my mark. It wasn't a pretty sight. Of course, at the time I didn't have a proper**mount**, not at all suitable for jousting."

"How did you get so good?"

He said patiently, "Only after I gained experience, bruises, and a worthy jousting partner. No, you found it quicker than I did. Don't get complacent, though. You're no match for any tilting veteran, including me."

"I know, sir," she said dejectedly. "We've jousted already, remember?"

His mouth twitched. "As I vividly recall. You were rather formidable, if not quite ready for the Impaler."

She blinked. "The Impaler?"

"I suppose you could call it a 'special' move. I prefer to use it on special occasions, or if I'm unsure of my opponent's capabilities. It's—a bit powerful. Some say it could kill a man."

Intrigued, Kel asked, "Will I learn that?"

"It's too soon, but maybe one day."

"I can learn now," she **urged**. "It won't be a problem—"

"It's too much, on top of everything I plan on doing today. Now, are we going to talk or joust?"

Wyldon rearranged her hands, spacing them further apart. "This is not very effective against better opponents, but it's easier on your arms and it will unseat a lesser adversary.

She nodded, accustoming herself to the position of her hands. Effective only against inexperienced jousters, she told herself, but easier on my arms. "I understand."

"This one—" He rearranged her hands again, moved her elbows up, and tilted her spine backwards. "This one is much more uncomfortable, but this is how I beat Raoul years ago."

Uncomfortable, but unbeatable. "Right."

"No, wrong—lift those elbows, Keladry. It's not magical. It only works if you make it work. Your grip is too loose—" He squeezed her hands around the **shaft**, his fingers **grinding** hers against it. "Just like this."

He showed her different moves and techniques. Some were defensive, allowing her to hold her own in the saddle. Others could be used to unseat another knight. He taught her minor tricks that were practically undetectable but no less potent. He demonstrated ways to overwhelm an adversary with a **lance**, coming from an odd angle or with tremendous force. It took several hours, and by the time they were done, the **sweat** was trickling down her back and she was gasping for breath. They hadn't even **mounted** yet, and she was already tired—just from all the lunging, the meticulous positioning of limbs.

Finally, Wyldon sighed and rolled a shoulder with a wince. "Then I think it's time we hit those saddles, don't you?" he told Kel. "Perhaps—if you're lucky—you'll even be able to experience the Impaler first-hand."

——-

"Where have you been?"

Kel smiled ruefully, raking her damp hair away from her face, and said to Nealan, "Jousting with Lord Wyldon."

He looked appalled. "Why would you ever willingly joust with him? You're a right little bit of insanity, I hope you know that."

"And you're not?" she snorted. She wiped the **sweat** from her brow and made a face as she blinked some from her eye. "I'm going to take a bath. A long, hot one. Maybe I won't be too bruised in the morning."

"Don't count on it," he called after her retreating figure. He shook his head, returning to his plate of hot meat and, he thought with satisfaction, no vegetables.

A trencher was set down across from him and Owen slid in a seat. "Where's Kel going?" he asked curiously, spearing a yam. "Isn't she hungry?"

"She's going to soak," Neal said, rolling his eyes. "She's been jousting with the Stump all day. She'll probably wake up black and blue and everything in between."

But Owen frowned. "Jousting?" he wondered. "But I've been in the courtyard helping Lord Padraig with the younger pages since morning bell—no one's been out there _jousting_."

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**This was greatly amusing to write. Please review (:**


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